Crashing
by Audio Pineapple
Summary: After Bellick foils the escape plan the convicts find their world crashing down around them. [AU Season One.]
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters and I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form with anyone who does.

**A/N: **I did write a one-shot with the same premise to this but they've got entirely different storylines. If anyone is interested there is a link to my prison break forum on my profile (complete with fanfiction board that could use some new writers!)

Bellick blinked in disbelief as he stared at the hole in the ground, his mind taking a moment to realise what he had before he licked his lips in delight; this was perfect. He could finally prove to Pope what a rat Scofield was.

Fantastic visions of promotions and of Scofield locked in solitary bawling his eyes out at how badly his oh-so-brilliant plan had failed danced through his head and he smiled again as he left the break room. This was too perfect.

"Which convicts were involved?" Pope sighed heavily; the out-of-place jolliness and the barely masked anger that had twinly contributed to his vitality had been washed away, leaving behind a defeated voice that suddenly made him seem his age.

Bellick tried to mask his ever growing excitement and match the saddened tone; "Scofield and Burrows, Abruzzi, Franklin, Westmoreland, Sucre and," he paused for dramatic effect, "Bagwell." He saw Pope barely manage to suppress a wince.

"Three murderers," he shook his head, "how did you find out about this Brad?"

"I have my informants," he wondered for a moment if he would get away without names, knowing deep down that it would be impossible, "Tweener, err…" he racked his brain trying to remember the convict's real name, "David. David Apolskis."

"What's he asking for?"

"His cellie's Avocado; he wants a transfer."

"See that he gets it. Can you send them in to see me?"

Bellick nodded, annoyed that he hadn't been rewarded yet but he stood regardless and headed towards the doorway.

"Oh and Brad? This is very good work, you'll be finding a bit more money in your pay slips from now on."

"Yes Sir," he left, his mind reeling with the excitement of seeing Scofield's world crumble.


	2. Chapter 1

Michael's fingers tapped against his knee as he stole a glance at Lincoln who barely seemed worried. Michael, however, couldn't help thinking that the plan could be ruined. After all Bellick had told him that they were going to be chastised for working too slowly in fixing the break room. He just had to hope that Pope wasn't going to reassign them or appoint a guard to watch and make sure that they hurried further.

"I'm going to kill that fucking rat!"

Michael jumped at the unexpected eruption from behind the closed office door and saw the other convicts jolted out of their thoughts as they stared in the same direction, the door kicked open a second later by two burly guards struggling to restrain T-Bag, who had flown into a rage that instantly sent chills through Michael's body.

"What the hell?"

Through the haze T-Bag managed to focus on Sucre's question, his body relaxing for a moment as he panted; "someone told Pope about the escape!" He began to fight again, shouting profanities and threats that Michael could hear but couldn't understand.

"Fish? Hey? You okay?" He blinked and raised his eyes from the floor in time to see the guards escorting T-Bag out of the room and everyone else staring at him, panic and fear evident on their faces.

"I'm fine Sucre."

"You don't look fine," he paused for a moment, "oh God, Maricruz."

"There are bigger problems than that right now. Like what to do with Fibonacci…"

"Yeah and what am I supposed to tell my family man? I'm in here for a lot longer now and it's all your fault Scofield!"

"I'm sorry," he was so quiet that he barely heard himself speaking, everyone's voices were getting understandably louder, understandably angrier and it felt as though the world was closing in on him but he found himself unable to process their concerns right now. The one and only thing he was thinking about was Lincoln.

"Michael…" Michael looked up to see Lincoln smiling thinly at him, "it's gonna be okay. You did your best." The voice sounded condescending and Michael wondered for a moment where he recognised it from before realising that it was the same one Lincoln had used when he was distraught at failing a test back at school. He couldn't manage to hold back a gentle laugh at the ludicrousness of the comparison.

"This isn't funny!" He saw C-Note standing up and moving to the front of him menacingly, almost immediately countered by Lincoln.

"Leave him alone."

"It's all his fault!"

"You wouldn't even be here if you hadn't forced yourself in so don't you dare start blaming him."

"He…"

"I'll never get her back."

Sucre's low moan distracted Michael from the escalating argument between C-Note and Lincoln and he tried to smile at his cell mate, and, when the attempt wasn't returned he gingerly laid a hand on his arm, as though he could absorb some of Sucre's pain. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

There was another loud bang as C-Note hit the floor, his argument having become a plain fight. Pope strode out of his office, looking angrier than Michael had ever seen him and Lincoln froze, body poised to land another punch.

"Abruzzi, you're next. Now the rest of you, sit down and be quiet or you'll be punished even further."

Lincoln and C-Note both sat, Michael feeling nervous when C-Note deliberately sat in the seat next to him, blocking Lincoln's attempt to obtain it. Abruzzi followed Pope into the office, his form clear to the others due to the partial demolition of the door but the voices in such low whispers that anything mentioned was inaudible. Three minutes later Abruzzi walked out as T-Bag's guards came back and he calmly left the room, the only sign of protest was making eye contact with Michael and drawing a line across his throat with his finger.

"Looks like I'm not the only one you have to worry about eh Fish?" C-Note laughed sarcastically as he was called in for his interview.

The process continued until Michael remained alone, waiting for Lincoln to come out from his discussion. On his way out he saw that Lincoln's head was held low and he whispered something to one of the guards who let him kneel down in front of Michael.

"You doin' okay?"

Michael shook his head, knowing that he wouldn't be able to say anything intelligent.

"They're keeping me in solitary until the date. It's one week away."

Michael shook his head again, unsure what he expected to gain from the action.

"It's gonna be okay, I don't think Pope'll be too hard on you…"

"I don't care about that."

Lincoln patted his shoulder, looking slightly uncomfortable at the gesture of compassion and he stood up, "you keep your head up."

As Michael watched him leave he felt his throat go raw, he wanted to shout, to scream, to grab Lincoln and try to fight the guards that were taking him away but he decided that he needed to look like he was coping. If this was Lincoln's final week he didn't want his brother to worry that he was unhappy.

Michael wandered into Pope's office, unsure exactly how his legs weren't buckling from underneath him. He sat down in the seat, spying the model out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm very disappointed in you Michael. You had my trust and you abused that."

"I just needed to save my brother," he knew that his voice was sounding weak and broken but he couldn't be bothered to control it. It was hard enough to stop from completely collapsing.

"I know," Pope nodded kindly, "but regardless of motives you'll have some years added onto your sentence and a week in solitary confinement…"

"I can't!" Lincoln's execution was in a week and he couldn't be locked away, he wouldn't be able to stop it.

"You can and you will. You'll be released in time to see Burrow's execution if you want," he motioned the guards over to them and they took Michael's arms, raising him to his feet, "but for now you're being locked away."


	3. Chapter 2

T-bag chewed on his bottom lip, glancing around the exercise yard. It had been a week since he had been thrown, feet first, into solitary confinement and he doubted that he would ever be deemed to have suffered enough for causing a nasty cut on one of the guards' faces in his rampage, but he was finally free again.

His group were predictably where he left them and he sauntered over to the bleachers, holding his head high as almost everyone stopped what they were doing to whisper about him. His smile faded slightly when he heard the whistles of appreciation from Abruzzi's clan, the man appearing out from solitary right behind him, but he shook the thoughts of inadequacy out of his mind. He was still one of the top dogs, regardless of whether he was cheered or not.

"Howdy boys," he smirked, struggling to maintain that fact when eyes started to avert his gaze and bodies hunched inwards. "I said…"

"Hey T-Bag," it was one of the younger ones, one of the bitches that had drawn up the courage to speak.

He looked him over, he wasn't too attractive and at twenty-four he did seem old but a week with nothing but his hand for company had already started to take its toll. He tried to keep the delight out of his voice as he hissed the threat, "that's Mr. Bagwell to you."

"S…sorry."

"Mr?"

"Jones, my name's Jones."

The misinterpretation of the demand, which would usually have had people in stitches barely managed to raise a few giggles. Confused by this he roughly smacked Jones around his ears, "I wasn't asking your name boy, I was…"

He paused as Anderson stood up, moving protectively in front of Jones. Anderson had claimed the meat as soon as he had walked off the bus but this wouldn't have happened a week ago. Everyone in the group knew that T-Bag got his pick of whoever, whenever, wherever.

"So what's this then? Mutiny on the bounty? Because I sure don't remember any of you lot being pirates."

"It wasn't pirates' that mutinied you idiot," he clenched his fists as everyone started to laugh at the insult. Something really wasn't right here. His fears were confirmed when Anderson looked at him out of pity, his voice deliberately calm.

"The thing is T, you were just leavin' everyone here and people aren't too pleased about that."

"Here I was thinking I could do what I damn well wanted." He was struggling to keep his voice quiet even though the fear was building up inside him.

"Yeah but…" Anderson faulted, obviously not wanting to continue talking, "it just hurt is all. We're supposed to be your friends."

"At least now we know why you couldn't catch the Pretty." Rackham, the same one who had made the snarky comments about pirates was really starting to get on T-Bag's nerves.

"I didn't catch him because I didn't want him."

Rackham scoffed, "you couldn't catch him if you wanted to. And, until you do, you're out of the group."

T-Bag felt a wetness encase his fingers and winced lightly, he'd clenched his fists so hard that his nails had drawn blood. "You just watch me."

Michael blinked in the bright sunlight that surrounded the yard, immediately walking to where Sucre was. He was too scared to be by himself yet, especially when he knew that Abruzzi and C-Note were after him.

"Hey fish," Michael looked at him, relieved to see that Sucre was still smiling, even though it was barely noticeable. He had half expected him to hate him as well, once the realization of being away from Maricruz sunk in, "you doing okay?"

He shook his head, not wanting to answer directly. There were, as Bellick had gleefully just reminded him, only three hours left until Lincoln was to be executed. He tried to distract his mind from thinking about it, "where's Abruzzi?" But his voice came out hoarse and tired, betraying the fact that he hadn't slept for the last three nights.

Sucre pointed him out, "if he comes after you I'm running away," he laughed, trying to make light of the situation but the attempt fell far too short. "Look, you're gonna get through this, you're Michael, you have a plan for everything."

"Not anymore I don't."

Michael flinched as an inmate walked over, thinking that he was going to get attacked but letting a sigh of relief escape as the convict ignored him, greeting Sucre. "Did you hear? Purity gang's kicked T-Bag out."

"Seriously?" Michael noticed Sucre's bare smile widen immensely, "I wouldn't want to get in his way any time soon."

Michael drowned their conversation out, he didn't care about games or gangs or anything apart from Lincoln. He doubted that he'd be crossing paths with T-Bag again anyway.


	4. Chapter 3

"I'm sorry Lincoln, I'm so sorry." Michael's voice gave out despite the words continuing inside his head. He clenched his eyes tightly shut before opening them, only to clench them again. He had to find a way to stop the tears from falling. He couldn't let Lincoln know that he was upset; after all, he was going to be able to cope with this, Lincoln needed to know that he was strong.

He watched Lincoln gulp as the final straps were put into place and noticed that his hands were quivering. He hadn't seen Lincoln scared for years and the realization hit him hard, this was it. There wasn't going to be a phone call to say that they had uncovered the whole conspiracy.

He hadn't believed him, he'd thought Lincoln was guilty along with everyone else, and he had taken so long to put his plan together, so long to make sure that he had a back-up plan for each and every back-up plan that he hadn't given himself enough time to save him. He bit his lip, trying not to think that, if he had turned up sooner, they could have been in Panama by now.

Lincoln, his breath now ragged, managed to catch Michael's gaze, and he forced himself to smile, unaware that the gesture was making Michael feel worse. That it was making him feel weaker, more useless, that it was making him feel that Lincoln was still trying to be the older brother, trying to take care of him while he should be hating him, should be blaming him for not being able to save him.

He tried to return the smile but almost immediately gave up the attempt, he couldn't let go of the hold his teeth had on his lip in case the tears escaped.

Pope, looking increasingly solemn lowered himself down to Lincoln's level and muttered into his ear to ask him if he had any last words.

"I'm sorry Michael, I'm so sorry." The hood was shoved on with brute force and the switch flipped.

As he saw Lincoln's body began to jerk Michael felt all of his defences break down and he couldn't hold back from screaming out for him, all the fury and all the pain forced into one desperate cry.

His own body started to go limp, all of its energy temporarily expended and all he could think of was that he hoped Lincoln's death had been instantaneous and that the last thing he heard hadn't been how much his baby brother still needed him.


End file.
